Angel in the Stars
by Silent Nightengale
Summary: No doubt you believe the great Leroux and Kay tell essentially the full truth of what happened to us after that last night. The truth is infinitely more bizarre...
1. Erik is Dead

**I do not own any form of Phantom.**

Chapter 1 - Erik is Dead

No doubt you believe the ending Gaston Leroux presented in his estimable novel is the whole truth of what happened to us after that last night. Or you may believe that Leroux was mistaken in the details and Susan Kay provides a more accurate theory of events. The truth is infinitely more bizarre…

Paris 18—

Christine sat quietly at a sunny breakfast table, sipping her morning chocolate and turning languidly through the day's first newspaper. Raoul had not inquired about her stolid practice of carefully reading each of the day's papers in their entirety; he gave her a curious look the first time but never said a word about it. He had no way of knowing it was not a long held custom, that she had only begun an attentive watch of the papers immediately after that final night with Him.

She looked at Raoul now, comfortably buttering a croissant across the table from her. Moving into Raoul's townhouse had been his idea. They would not be married for some time people would speak disapprovingly of an engaged couple living under the same roof, but the very fact that Christine was an opera chorus girl, what real harm was one more discretely scandalous action going to do? "I can't bear to be out of sight of you again; I want to be near you," he had said with a voice full of love, but somewhere deep in his eyes she read the whole truth of what he meant: "I cannot allow you be out of my sight; I cannot risk that you may try to go back to Him." Something had changed between them that night. He still loved her and yet… The way he looked at her was subtly different; he had become brooding and watchful. She noted how the extremity of these odd behaviors increased a little more each day. Christine strove to shrug off such thoughts; after all, she should not worry so; neither of them could be quite themselves so soon after that night.

The serving maid refilled Christine's cup as she turned the paper to the pages she dreaded reading most. Her stomach tightened a little as it always did when she scanned these particular pages. Her eyes froze on one specific entry and she felt herself grow cold. Somewhere in the back of her mind she laughed at the irony the three words that could thrust her into such utter despair should appear in the "agony" columns.

"Darling," (Always a term of endearment; he never called her by name these days.) "Are you well? What's the matter?" Raoul asked, though by the look in his eyes, Christine could see he had already guessed. Even so she carefully folded the paper open between them on the table, pointing at the entry, and said aloud those three wretched words in a quiet, hollow voice.

"Erik is dead."


	2. The Experiment

Chapter 2 – The Experiment

The opera house was a vibrantly magnificent picture in the early afternoon sun. How could the sun be so pure and golden, Christine wondered, the marble of the building so majestically white, the sky so exquisitely blue, when the most beautiful soul lay stilled in death beneath it all? She paused a moment on the cobblestones and hesitated, glancing back at the waiting carriage. She sighed and closed her eyes wearily, then took another breath to steel herself and turned again to the opera house.

Her steps echoed slightly as she hurried through the corridors, meeting no-one and hearing few; most would be out at this time of day or off in the more remote parts of the building. Through her former dressing rooms, down the passageways; Christine's heart quickened with her steps as she drew near the well. Just one last corner and…

The mist of her breath hung before her in the chill air. She wrung her hands together as she slowly moved toward the still figure half-sitting, half-lying beside the well. His dress was as impeccable as always from the crisp black of his cloak to the stark whiteness of his mask. Even in death he exuded a degree of elegance—black gloved hands resting gently to either side, left knee slightly lifted, head dropping softly toward his right shoulder—yes, death knew how to pose its own well.

Trembling a little, Christine eased into a crouch beside him and studied him anxiously, finding nothing but the gleam of a gold watch chain draped across his unmoving chest. Letting out a small sigh that was nearly a sob she took her glove off a still trembling hand. She slowly twisted off the gold band on her forth finger and reached for his hand.

Moon Base Laboratory- 2347 A.D.

"Video Log 22.3. We've done it; though what "it" is will likely never be known by anyone outside of this laboratory."

Dr. Neil Aggar frowns at the screen. "For all intents and purposes the device does _work_… but with the condition it's in now and…"

The large, heavyset man shakes his head in frustration, takes a breath, and starts over. "At 0800 we began the initial start-up for the final test of the Aggar Time Differential Device. At the start everything was going according to plan; the computer confirmed the viability of the specified date and location and began locking on to an object. The grab was confirmed and the device began to pull it across. The computer issued a two simultaneous warnings that the object was first, living matter and second, much larger than it should have been. The malfunction had clearly begun before the selection of the object because the computer ought to have read and disregarded any biological signature in the target area. We attempted to abort the grab but the transport process was too far along. We weren't sure what we were going to receive; as discussed in Log 15.4, when we attempted to grab pieces of fruit all that came through were single seeds. If the object was a person, we feared the worst. Since the device was not calibrated for the size and biology of the grab the machinery began to fail but somehow it nonetheless completed the transport and deposited a young girl onto the pad. She is now in the medical bay, unconscious but as far as anyone can tell, unharmed."

The doctor pauses again, looking at his hands then smiles ironically at the screen. "A success, no?" He gives a short bitter laugh. "No. At least not to the Board. The girl is somewhere between three and five years old but was surrounded by the clothing of a grown woman of her time. Though she is certainly in good health… we now realize why transporting the fruit yielded seeds. Dead matter, stones, metals and the like were not affected, being dead cells but living cells it seems are adversely affected by the temporal radiation of the transport resulting in a kind of cellular… degeneration. It is almost as if the growth and development of living cells is… rewound during transport."

Dr. Aggar starts to get a little excited, a true scientist ecstatic about his work. "The seeds we received in the fruit grab _were_ the original fruit, not simply a part of it as we had thought. This girl was a young woman when she was grabbed but by the time she reached us she had grown down, as it were, into the little girl we have now. Until she wakes up we will not know how her memories and thought development have been affected but fortunately it seems her body's cellular chemistry returned to normal shortly after exiting the device. At the very least she will be able to grow up in this time perfectly normally from a biological point of view. If only I could continue my research! Why does the temporal radiation affect living matter so? If we could find a way to account for that, modify the device…"

He stops his inspired diatribe and his excitement visibly fades as he continues with the reality of the situation.

"Further research requires support, funding. The device is badly damaged, irreparably so without the money and labor to fix it. When the Board publicizes its report I won't even be able to get volunteers. It is "too dangerous to continue such experiments at this time." Huh. Not even two hours after my device grabbed a person, not even an object, but a person! From centuries ago and returned them living and breathing into my lab and they shut me down. She could have come out a lot worse off than she has, surely; I don't deny that. We all expected her to! But she didn't! A woman from Victorian France here, now! The machine needs work; the process needs adjusting but… ah. Why do I get myself excited? They have even already decided to keep the girl out of the public report. Call the device "a complete failure due to mechanical inadequacies." Someday, they tell me, when technology has developed a bit more, they might allow me to try again. Someday… well, they might at least let me study her while they find her a home…"

Somewhere in the room behind Dr. Aggar comes a dull explosion. Lab technicians hurry past as the doctor turns his head.

"The machine?" he asks bewildered, and then shouts. "What's going on? Who turned it on?"

"No one, sir!" someone cries back. "Quick, get that fire doused!"

Amid the glow of fire and the smoke beginning to drift across the room, a bright bluish-white light flashes. Dr. Aggar jumps to his feet in alarm.

"It's grabbed something—? Quick! Before it—"

Dr. Aggar hurries off-screen, his words muffled by another burst of breaking machinery. The computer automatically shuts off the log recorder and powers down.


	3. Irony

**I feel it's necessary to make clear that while I do love both very much, this story is mainly about the Phantom of the Opera and not so much Star Trek. Star Trek just happens to be a convenient vehicle for this bizarre little story floating around my brain, particularly because I'm not enough up on the technical logistics of science fiction to build my own world around it. I may someday, but for now, this is what I'm using.**

**I do not own Star Trek or Phantom of the Opera.**

Chapter 3 – Irony

U.S.S. Enterprise, Daravat System, 2367 A.D.

The young lieutenant smiled to herself as she walked confidently through bright hallways, pleased that after months of wrong turns she finally knew her way around the great flagship. It took some getting used to after the smaller vessels she had served on but, she thought as she nodded to a passing ensign, it was nice to be more permanently assigned.

"Christine!"

She turned as she reached the door of the turbo lift and smiled at the red haired doctor approaching her.

"Beverly," she said in greeting.

"I'm glad I caught you; I just wanted to let you know we'll be starting rehearsal a half hour late tonight."

"Alright," Christine answered with a nod and Beverly clapped her gently on the shoulder.

"Great; I'll see you then."

Lieutenant Christine Daae watched Dr. Crusher go, tucking her hands characteristically into the pockets of her loose blue coat, then turned back to enter the turbo lift.

As the lift hummed its way up the decks Christine mused for the hundredth time over the irony of her role in Beverly's latest theatrical endeavor. She had spent her life coming to terms with all that had happened, pursued theatre and music only as a casual hobby while she fashioned a career in engineering, following in the footsteps of her adopted parents, and now here she was playing herself in her off hours, in her very own story. Well, one man's version of it at least.

None of her fellow players could grasp the full irony of the situation. They knew, of course, the "coincidence" of her name, but they could not appreciate the depth of the similarity between the Christine they worked with and the Christine on the script's page. Watching the way she sang, praising how evocatively she played her emotions, they couldn't guess how much of her true soul was coming out in the manufactured, romantic words of a twentieth century composer.

The doors of her quarters swished shut and Christine crossed to the replicator, pulling her uniform shirt off as she went.

"Water, hot; slice of lemon," she ordered.

While the device hummed she reached up to a shelf and pulled down a vintage style tea tin and steeper. She carefully measured out the loose tea leaves and dropped the full steeper into the steaming water. Christine replaced the tin and carried the mug over to the couch and set it on the low table. As she kicked off her boots and curled her legs up under her, she watched the crystalline water swirl to brown. She plucked the lemon off the rim of the mug and squeezed it before letting it fall into the cloudy liquid and swirling the contents once more. At last she lifted the mug to her lips, closing her eyes to savor the scent before taking that first deliciously hot sip.

This ritual completed, she sighed and gazed down into the tea as if somehow the murky depths could conjure amber eyes and a black silk mask. Beneath the soft hum of the ship's motion, she half fancied she could hear a voice tenderly lying that it wasn't a terrible excuse for tea at all, in fact quite good, and smiled a melancholic smile.


	4. The Daravat System

Chapter 4 – The Daravat System

The Daravat System; a small solar system on the outer edge of a large galaxy, possessing one sun, seven planets, a small asteroid belt along the inner orbit, one M Class planet, habitable to humanoid life. The planet, first discovered by the same Lucas Daravat for whom the system is named, is for the most part unappealing. While sporting healthy nitrogen/oxygen atmosphere and liquid water, this planet Sheol is remarkably arid, it's various regions differing only in temperature extremes and levels of an oddly limited array of plant and animal life. The crust is composed of a remarkable percentage of carbon; several generations of fortune in diamonds sits quietly beneath the surface. And yet, only one mining operation holds monopoly over Sheol's resources.

The exact circumstances through which Lucian Darke- art lover, entrepreneur, and sometime white-collar con man- came to own the entire planet of Sheol have never been clear. But Sheol is remote from even the closest inhabited system, there is no law against a monopolized trade in diamonds from a planet no one else seems to want, the man himself causes no trouble, and if many of the ships that dock there are suspicious… well, neither visitors nor host complain of any unpleasantness.

The rumor surrounding the planet is another thing altogether. The roguish characters whose ships dock at Sheol carry strange tales to their next destinations, tales of remarkable technologies and depraved entertainments. Every year the new tales grow wilder, the tellers more wary, as if even these hardened rogues have been shaken by what they witnessed there. Darke, it is said, is a genius and a madman; and although none seem to dare to say it openly, he grows madder all the time.

The very face of respectability and sanity to the Federation ships that come to look over his operations yearly, Lucian Darke consistently belies the scattered rumors that reach the ears of Federation authority.

This year the starship assigned to stop off at Sheol is no less than the Enterprise.


	5. Sheol

**Very short, sorry. The next chapter should get into more of the meat of the story.**

**I own nothing.**

Chapter 5 – Sheol

"Stationary orbit established," Lieutenant Commander Data announced and raised his pale eyes to the view screen. The planet displayed there was a forbidding place, an orb of browns and grays smudged over with green; the oceans were dark and gauzy clouds swirled stormily through the atmosphere.

Nonetheless, Captain Picard smiled as he stood and acknowledged Data. "Hail Mr. Drake," he commanded. Lieutenant Worf pressed some buttons on his console and the computer trilled.

"Channel open, sir," he said.

"This is Captain Jean-luc Picard of the Federation Starship Enterprise." He paused, waiting for a response.

"Welcome, Captain Picard." A rich, lyrical voice returned from the planet's surface. "Forgive me for not greeting you face to face; we are having a few minor technical troubles. I hope, however that you will do me the honor of joining me for dinner so that we may discuss your evaluation."

"It would be my pleasure, Mr. Drake," Picard responded. "And we would be pleased to assist you with your equipment if you like."

"Thank you, Captain," the lyrical voice said smoothly. "I already have my own man working on it and he needs no assistance. Can I expect you and whatever crew members you would like to bring at 1800?"

Lifting his eyebrows slightly, Captain Picard smiled again. "Of course, 1800 it is."

"Perfect. Until then, Captain."


	6. Dinner

**Has anyone else been frustrated when trying to make Data sound right? Words work in my head, then I put them on paper and suddenly I'm uncertain… c'est la vie. But yay, at least it's a post!**

**I own nothing.**

Chapter 6 – Dinner

At 1800 precisely three transporter beams glimmered to life in the enclosed courtyard of Lucian Drake's complex. Drake smiled at the uniformed officers who glanced about for their host and stepped toward them from the colonnade.

"Welcome to my facility!" he boomed warmly. "May your stay be pleasant and your mission brief. I am Lucian Drake."

The trio stared at the figure coming toward them with some measure of surprise. He was dressed in expensively tasteful if old fashioned clothing that somehow seemed to fit with the marble columns and simple but flourishing plants surrounding the courtyard. He was relatively tall and firmly built, with greying hair that implied his age but a step as vigorous as the burbling fountain he circumvented to reach them. What startled his visitors were not these details nor his greeting but the ivory mask covering his face.

Picard stepped forward and took the friendly hand offered him. "Captain Jean-luc Picard," he said and turned to indicate his fellows. "This is Lieutenant Commander Data and Lieutenant Commander Geordi LaForge. They will be in charge of overseeing our evaluation of your facility."

"Welcome," Drake repeated as he shook their hands in turn, his eyes traveling curiously over Data only briefly. "Now come, you shall eat and then I shall give you a brief tour of my splendid facility."

"By all means, sir, lead the way," responded Picard with a smiling nod.

They passed through the colonnade encircling the courtyard and entered a set of great wooden doors into a grand hall. Drake led them to the dining room which, like the hall before it, carried the air of a nineteenth century mansion in its décor and sumptuous spaces. The visitors took their seats at the end of a long table already set and steaming with platters of food.

"Please, gentlemen, help yourselves." So saying, their masked host did not sit but lifted a bottle of wine to fill their glasses. He paused when he reached Data. "Ah, perhaps you may not like…" he began a bit uncertainly.

"I am capable of sampling whatever you care to offer," Data responded.

Drake dipped his head in a brief nod and filled Data's glass.

"Aren't you joining us, Mr. Drake?" Geordi asked as their host sat at the un-set head of the table.

Drake smiled under his mask. "Forgive me, no; I have already eaten. But I do hope you will enjoy the delicacies I had prepared for you." He gestured to their politely empty plates. Obediently they began to fill them.

"Perhaps you might tell us a bit more about your operations here," Picard offered as he lifted a piece of soft, hot meat onto his plate. "Our databanks contain surprisingly little information."

"Yes, I'm afraid they must. I use several pieces of technology that are quite unique to my facility and I do not wish to share them too freely with the rest of the universe. When you leave here and give your report to Star Fleet you will no doubt be ordered to erase anything pertaining to the technology." He glanced at Data. "No doubt you be asked to do the same with your memory processors."

Data cocked his head slightly. "May I ask why you are so secretive with your inventions?"

Drake's eyes glittered oddly. "One of my little eccentricities; as I said, I simply do not wish to share them with the rest of the universe. Although there is too the practical fact that they give me an advantage of efficiency over other mining processes which keeps me at the top of the business. I enjoy the power of it, Mr. Data, and the profit."


	7. The Profit

**I considered continuing this chapter into another scene but I seem to be setting a precedent of short chapters so for the moment at least, I will continue that, simply because it's easy and I don't have to worry about making visual section breaks. Extra short today but at least it's something, right?**

**Zero ownership of copyrighted materials.**

Chapter 7 – The Profit

The monitor in the captain's empty ready room blinked to life, text lighting the gleaming black screen.

Intangible fingers entered "crew manifest" and a scrolling list displayed for no one. Fish in the domed aquarium drifted lazily while across the room a list of search parameters entered themselves into the data – sex: female, a certain height range, an approximate weight, hair color, eye color, skin tone. Every listing containing at least one characteristic pulled itself from the manifest and sped into a separate file.

Within moments the computer stilled.

The file vanished.

The screen blinked out again.

The door of the ready room slid open.

An ensign set a technical report down next to the blank, warm screen and crossed back out again, oblivious of the fresh, red rose resting quietly on the seat of the captain's chair.


	8. The First Incident

**I don't own Star Trek and know so little about the technical aspects of technical aspects that I'll be making a lot of shit up. Just to warn you; if I start sounding like an idiot, that's why. As I think I've said before, the whole ST bit is simply a vehicle for the rest of it.**

**Don't own Phantom either.**

Chapter 8 – The First Incident

"Forgive me for leaving you in the middle of our tour, Captain; I trust Monsieur Jefferys has been taking good care of you?"

The small group of federation officers looked around as their mysteriously masked host approached them from the direction of his mansion-like home.

"He has indeed, Mr. Drake," Picard replied with a quick smile. "Nothing wrong I trust?"

"Oh no, not at all," Drake smiled smoothly behind the mask. "A simple operation with one of our computers required my attention, quite routine and if my cursory glance was any indication, quite successful today. Well then, now that you have gotten a feel for my little facility I expect you will be returning to your ship to organize your inspection? Perhaps you will have a little drink before you go?" As he spoke he waved away the quiet, uniformed Jefferys and gestured graciously back along the path he had come. The away team followed, too polite to refuse.

Christine paused in her work and rubbed her eyes wearily – her eyes never did seem to really accustom themselves to the vague glare of computer screens however well calibrated they were. Resting her strained eyes in the darkness behind her eyelids, she listened to the gentle thrum of the dilithium chamber behind her. Slightly starting as if someone had brushed unexpectedly against her, the young lieutenant's eyes snapped open. A hesitant pause and she turned slowly in her chair, glancing around engineering. No one was even looking at her – _Thank God. _She thought as she turned back to the screen, her heart beating strangely. She could only imagine what her face looked like. How silly that she should think – Ridiculous; she couldn't possibly have felt –

Christine shook her head. The show was starting to get to her; starting to make her imagination run wild. Breathing deeply, she placed her hands back on the panel to get back to work and forget her moment of silly fancy. Hardly had she entered the smallest amount of data when her fingers paused again. This time she looked around for a sound. No, the absence of a sound. Blinking in disbelief, she rose out of her seat.

"Computer," she called aloud. "Who shut down the dilithium chamber?"

"Unknown," its businesslike voice announced.

Frowning, Christine crossed to the correct instrument panels and tapped a few unresponsive keys.

"Computer, are you able to reactivate it?"

A few moments of buzzing work. "Negative."

"Can you at least tell what shut it down?"

"Manual override of the main reactor core connections."

"And why can't you reconnect them?" Christine asked, exasperation leaking into her voice as she continued unsuccessfully to uncover the problem manually.

"Unknown."

She ran a hand through her thick dark hair, pulling the curling waves away from her face. "That's a lot of help." She sighed. "Have Geordi or Data returned from the planet yet?"

"The landing party has just returned to the transporter room," said the cool computer voice.

"Good, they'll be down soon then." Brow furrowed with concentration, she bent back to trying to find the unknown problem.

Several levels above her industriously working figure an ensign half slipped on some small, soft object that crushed immediately underfoot. He caught himself on a railing as the thing he'd slipped on was pushed off the platform down into the shadows. Looking curiously at the floor he thought he could see a spotty reddish residue by his feet. Shrugging he went on with whatever it was he had been going to and promptly forgot the incident.


End file.
